by Frank Deford
He looked up, so forlorn that right away I knew something was wrong. Jimmy had one of those faces that was incapable of hiding emotion. In fact, it would’ve been an altogether bland, forgettable face except for the fact that it was such a good-looking face. “Sit down, sweetie,” he said, pointing to the spot next to him. I mean, it was so unlike Jimmy not to immediately pop up when I arrived—or any lady. Despite his upbringing, he had somehow learned how to be every inch the gentleman.
So, I sat there & put an arm around his shoulder. “Okay, kiddo, what’s the matter?”
He couldn’t even look at me, just stared away. “They let me go,” he finally said.
I didn’t understand. “Who did?”
“The bank.”
“The Bank of Manhattan?” He nodded. “They fired you?”
“It’s hard times, Sydney. They had to let a bunch of us go.”
“Just like that?”
“Well, a week’s notice.”
“That’s white of them,” I said.
“Yeah, well, they had orders from the main office to let 2 tellers go, & me and Harvey were the newest.” He just shook his head.
“OK then, come on, let’s go get a beer, & we’ll talk about it,” I said, but he put his hand on my knee, kind of to hold me down.
“Nah, Sydney, I’m almost broke, & now I’ve lost my job.”
“It’s OK, Jimmy, my ship just came in.” That was a little white lie. But I did have a bit of rainy-day $ tucked away, waiting for the next sales at Lerner’s or Lane Bryant’s, so I ran into my room & grabbed a few dollars & we went down to the nearest bar we liked, which was an Irish joint called McDougal’s.
We took a booth in the corner & ordered a couple of Schaefers on tap, which was the loyal thing to do for anybody in Greenpoint, because the brewery was right there on Kent St. It still didn’t much cheer Jimmy up, tho. “Let’s have another couple,” I said.
“You shouldn’t, Sydney. You got a race this weekend.”
“Jimmy, for Pete’s sake, it’s just Inter-club, & if a couple Schaefers can slow me down, then I’m in a lot of trouble.”
“Well, OK,” he said, but he just held his head some more. “The thing is, Sydney, I’ve been thru so much crap in my life, & I was always able to take it, but I finally thought I’d come up aces. The bank, going to college, you—”
“I’m still your girl.”
But even that didn’t cheer him up. “What girl wants a fellow who can’t even hold a good job?”
“It’s not your fault.”
“You know the worst?” I shook my head. “Mr. Bancroft said I could go back to being a runner. Then maybe, when things got better, I could be promoted back.”
“Is that so bad?”
“I can’t do that, Sydney. I can’t go back. I’m sorry. All the things I’ve had to do in my life, I’ve never once gone back. No.” He banged his fist on the table. “No, whatever I do, I’m going forward.” I patted his hand, but he only shrugged. “All right, I’ll get us a couple more beers.” I slid him a quarter, but that only reminded him he was broke. “I’m just a damn tramp again.”
He slumped over to the bar. It hurt me just watching him, because I knew how unlucky he’d been all his life & how hard he’d fought to overcome everything, & how happy he’d been lately, how proud of himself he’d become—but now this. Didn’t that Mr. Bancroft at the Bank of Manhattan remember that it was only a few months ago that Jimmy Branch had been B’lyn’s “Good Citizen Of The Week”? How quickly people forget the good stuff (but how long they remember the bad things—that’s the corollary, isn’t it?). It made me mad.
But it made me care all the more for Jimmy, too, so when he came back with the Schaefers, I just said, “I’ve got another idea.”
“What’s that?”
“Well, my idea is that after we’re finished these”—I held up my schooner—“we should go back to my room & you should spend the nite w/ me.”
Jimmy almost choked on his beer. It made me laugh. “Are you serious?” he finally said.
“I wouldn’t joke about that.”
He reached across & took my hand. “God, Sydney.”
“But we don’t have to rush the beers.”
Jimmy smiled & put his down. Then, suddenly, his expression changed. He took his hand away from mine & shook his head. “No,” he said.
“No what?”
“Just no. You know how much I want to make love to you.”
“That’s for sure.”
“But, no matter, I don’t want you to do it just ’cause you feel sorry for me. It’s bad enough that you’re buying the beers.”
I folded my arms, & I probably spoke too loud, because I have a tendency to do that when I get my dander up, especially when I fold my arms in the process. “Jimmy Branch,” I said, “you listen to me. You bet I feel sorry for you. You’re a real honey of a guy who just got a very bum break. But that doesn’t mean then, OK, I’m gonna let you go to bed with me just for that. It’s not like I’m just another beer on tap.”
“Come on, Sydney, you know I didn’t mean that.”
“Just shut up, Jimmy. But, here’s the thing”—& this is when I leaned forward & looked him dead in the eyes. “Sometimes you don’t realize how much you care about somebody till something bad happens to that person, & tonite, when I learned that even more bad stuff happened to you, I realized how much I DID care. So yeah, I feel sorry for you & I want to go to bed with you, but it’s not because I feel sorry for you, but because the feeling sorry for you made me feel a lot more for you. Do you understand that?”
Jimmy just nodded.
“Good,” I said. “Then that’s settled.” I hadn’t had any dinner, but mere food was certainly out of the question now, so after we finished our beers, we walked back, hand in hand, to my room. We spent the whole nite together, & not only did it make Jimmy feel a lot better, but me too.
VI.
That weekend, in the Inter-club match, I swam the l00 yds in l:09 flat, which left me a bit short of Eleanor’s l:08.4. L. deB. told me, “You know, Sydney, I’m kind of glad you just missed. Now, when you break the world record at the nationals, you’ll get a lot more attention.”
But whatever pleasure I got from my swimming was tempered by poor Jimmy’s mood. He was so melancholy. There just weren’t any jobs to be had, &, no matter what, he wasn’t going to accept being a runner for the bank again. He didn’t eat enough, & he smoked entirely too much. He smoked Old Golds.
On one occasion, we were sharing a pizza pie. I’d never even heard of pizza till I got to B’lyn—tho they called it “apizza” then. I told Jimmy (again): “It isn’t your fault, honey. It’s the Depression.”
“You’ll never even think about marrying a bum like me.”
“Well, I don’t know how many times I’ve told you, but I’m not marrying anybody till after the Tokyo Olympics, & I’m sure you’ll have a job then.”
“You mean you’ll marry me then?”
“I didn’t say that, Jimmy. I just said I’d be prepared to marry you then.”
That buoyed him some. “Go on, eat another slice of apizza,” I said. “Your appetite is lagging.”
So he did. But everytime I saw him, he was more down in the dumps. Then, one day—in fact, I know exactly: it was June 27th—he was waiting for me again outside the London Terrace, just leaning up against the bldg there, smoking, per usual. “Hi,” he said, but not w/ the sort of enthusiasm you’d expect from somebody greeting their serious girlfriend.
“What’s with you, Gloomy Gus?” I said.
“I got something to tell you, Sydney.”
“Okay.”
“Let’s get a beer.”
“Seems to me you’ve already had a couple beers.”
“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said. “I came over to Washington St, so I’ve been waiting.”
“What’s on Washington St?”
“The Marines, Sydney. I signed up for the Marines.”
/> I took a big breath. It was like I’d been hit by a 2 x 4. “You did what?”
“You heard me. I signed up for the Marines. It’s a job, Sydney. A girl isn’t going to marry a guy w/o a job.”
“Oh, Jimmy,” I said, grabbing his arm. “You didn’t do this for me?”
“No. Don’t worry about that. I did this for me. I couldn’t stand me anymore.”
“I wished you’d talked to me lst.”
“That’s why I didn’t. Because then I’d’ve let you talk me out of it. Because I love you, & I don’t want to leave you.”
“I love you, too, Jimmy.”
He turned & faced me. “You never said that before.”
He was right. I’d been scared to tell him that. But I’d been thinking: why wait till after the Tokyo Olympics to get married? Eleanor set world records when she was married. So he held me tightly then, & we kissed very passionately, standing right there on 9th Ave. I always liked kissing standing up & invariably threw myself into it, as I did now.
In fact, just as we broke apart, I saw L. deB. come outside after practice. He was in a pale blue-striped seersucker suit & had on a straw boater, so he was easy to spot. He looked over at us, but I wasn’t embarrassed about my indecorous behavior in public. I just asked Jimmy, “Well, when do you go?”
“I go to boot camp next week.”
“Next week!?”
“Yeah. I was the last one to make the July allotment. We can’t go before the holiday, so I leave the 5th. That’s next Tues.”
“God, only a week.”
“Yeah.”
“And how long?”
“Four yrs.” I swear, I almost swooned. He grabbed me. “It’s not so long, Sydney. It’s like between Olympics. Think how fast that goes. You’re halfway to Tokyo already. I’ll be out July in ’42. Or maybe if the Depression is still on & I like the Marines, I’ll make it a career. I found out: Marines guard embassies all over the world.”
That was not my idea of being a wife, going from pillar to post, the world over, but I didn’t get into that. I was too shocked. Jimmy was just so proud he had a job, tho, that nothing else mattered—not even me. And I did understand, as much as I hated it, why he signed up. But you had to’ve been around then, in the Depression, to know what it was like, without any jobs, when you had your pride & ambition, but you couldn’t do a darn thing about it.
Maybe you can appreciate, then, how I felt on July l2th. That was 2 wks later, or exactly one week after I saw Jimmy off from Penn Station to go to Parris Island, S. Carolina. I was in the office, filing, when Mr. S spotted me. Every day, when he’d go out for lunch, he’d buy a copy of the New York World-Telegram, which was his afternoon newspaper of choice. He’d glance at the headlines, read the sports, then finish it on the subway home & give it to Mrs. S to read while he had an Old Fashioned before dinner. That was his routine.
This day, as soon as he got back from lunch, he came right over. “You wanna know something, Sydney?” he said, handing me the paper, pointing to a headline down toward the bottom of the front page. It read:
Cite Chinese War
JAPANESE GIVE UP ’40
TOKYO OLYMPIC GAMES
I hardly managed to read the article. I was in such a complete daze. I couldn’t even make myself go to swimming practice that afternoon or the next day either. I couldn’t concentrate at all at work, & that 2nd day, afterwards, I went to McDougal’s & sat in the corner & drank 3 drafts. Like I was a rummy, drinking by myself. But the more I thought, the more I knew I had my mind made up. So, the next day, as soon as I walked into the office, I gave Mr. S my notice & then I called Mom & told her I was coming back to the Shore.
That afternoon, I went to the pool to tell L. deB. of my decision. I remember, for the lst time, I called him L. deB. & not Coach, because this really didn’t have anything to do w/ coaching. “I’m sorry, L. deB.,” I said, “but if there’s not going to be any Olympics, I just don’t care enough.”
“Sydney, Sydney,” he said, beseeching me, “I know you’re upset, but don’t you worry. They’ll be an Olympics. Helsinki, Finland, wants to jump in.”
I shook my head. I didn’t believe that for a moment. Europe was coming apart at the seams worse even than Asia. Hitler had already taken over Austria, & any dumb-bunny could see he wasn’t going to be satisfied just w/ that. But L. deB. was such a gentleman. I let him take me by the hands & steer me over to where there were a couple of chairs. He kept holding onto one of my hands, looking right into my eyes. He had on a white linen suit, w/ a blue shirt & a yellow tie & handkerchief & a daisy in his buttonhole. I remember that distinctly. He was so stylish, I can always recall exactly what L. deB. had on at any particular time—even when I was so upset, like now.
He said, “Look, Sydney, I know it’s none of my business, but one of the other gals told me that that boy I saw you smooching w/ a couple wks ago has left you.”
“No, he didn’t leave me, L. deB. He just left town for a job.”
“I see. But he’s gone away from you, Sydney, & I can only imagine how that hurts. But don’t let that affect your swimming.”
I took my hand away from him. “I’m sorry, I know you don’t understand, but I just don’t care all that much about swimming anymore.”
He took my hand back, in both of his, holding it tighter still. He meant so well, I knew. He loved swimming so much, so he just couldn’t fathom how I felt, because it never meant all that much to me. “Listen, Sydney, you swim at the nationals, you’ll win, you’ll set a world record & all those newspaper photographers will be taking your picture, & boys opening up the paper, getting a gander of you in your WSA suit—you’ll be swatting fellows away like f lies.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Even if Jimmy is gone, I still love him.”
“Well, please, take a couple days to think about it.”
“I’ve already done that. I promise, you, that’s all I’ve done is think about this.” And now I patted him on his hand. It was suddenly me, the kid, comforting him, the grown-up. “I’m sorry. I just don’t care that much anymore. I’m going back to the Shore to sell insurance.”
L. deB. slumped back in his chair, confounded by me. I would’ve been, too, if I’d been in his place & he in mine. But he could tell there wasn’t any more to say, so he just lifted his eyes & watched me get up. Forlornly.
“Look,” I remembered to say. “I forgot to bring my WSA bathing suit. I’ll mail it back.”
L. deB. waved that off. “No, keep it, Sydney, so if you ever change your mind, you can just come on back & slip it on & pick right up where you left off.”
I leaned down & gave him a kiss on his cheek, & then, w/o looking back, I walked away. I never practiced swimming again, never swam a race again, &, to tell you the God’s truth, I never had a moment’s regret. It’d been exciting at lst, & I know I was happy that I’d done something to make Daddy proud of me, but I honestly was never sure that I wanted to swim all that much FOR ME. You have to care so much, like Eleanor did, to be the Queen.
The funny thing is, when I walked away that day, I knew I was the Queen of the Backstroke, the best in all the world, so I really didn’t care if I had to prove that to anybody else—well, unless there’d been an Olympics. That’s what had really kept me going all along: to swim in the Olympics in Tokyo in ’40. I wanted to win a gold medal there, but I think maybe in my heart of hearts what I’d really wanted most was to win a gold medal w/ Horst watching me.